


Face My Fears

by unlockthelore



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-11 15:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17449544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlockthelore/pseuds/unlockthelore
Summary: A mishap between Tracer’s chronal accelerator and the dragons ends with the abduction of two souls from different points in time and space. Snatched from their respective places in the multiverse are —  the former kumicho of the Shimada Clan, Sojiro Shimada, and a young boy who claims to be a Shimada himself. Can the Recall survive when these Dragons clash or will the weight of their presence break not only Overwatch but time itself?





	1. What Happened?

 

“Okay, relay to me again, _how_ this happened.”

For anyone who knew Overwatch in its glory days as an illustrious legion of heroes and paragons ready to fight for the greater good despite the costs,  _this_ would have been a disappointing sight. In the ruins of Watchpoint: Gibraltar which had been cleaned up and fashioned into at least a moderately livable place for the recalled agents; Winston and the famed Agent Tracer, otherwise known as Lena Oxton, both stood in front of Soldier 76, a grizzled man donning a tactical visor and a letterman jacket that’d seen much better days. Well, stood would have been an overstatement. Cowered may have been a better description.

Pieces of debris, ranging from frighteningly large to the size of small boulders, littered the tarmac. Overhead, what was left of the roof was breaking off in smaller pieces but the danger seemed to have passed. Most of the equipment in the room was smashed to bits or sparking wildly, flashing various colors, dials and screens flickering. Eventually, even the crackling died down and all was left was the insistent tap of Soldier 76’s boot, Winston’s low grunts and grumbles, the crunching under Lena’s boot as she ground it into the rock beneath her heel, and the chronal accelerator — which had been the only thing left unscathed, still humming softly with a faint blue light.

“I am waiting,” 76 reminded with a clipped tone.

“Well, y’see even if we told you what happened, it isn’t like you’d believe it,” Lena pouted, rubbing the back of her neck.

76 sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose but remembering his visor was in the way, he folded his arms even tighter and huffed.

“Try me.”

Winston and Lena shared a glance then the former sighed. “We were conducting tests on Lena’s chronal accelerator to ensure that if she were to come in contact with Doomfist again, there would be a less likely chance of her suffering temporal displacement,” Winston explained, shooting her an apologetic glance to which she returned with a hesitant smile. 76’s shoulders slumped slightly and though Winston wasn’t sure if the old soldier was looking at him, he was almost certain he glanced towards Lena by the way his hackles seemed to fall almost instantaneously. “While our research was gaining ground, there was a mishap — namely _three_  mishaps.”

For a moment, 76 said nothing then slowly, realization dawned upon him and he said in a breathless voice, “No.”

Lena nodded sullenly. “We were doing another test when the noodles — er, I mean, the dragons bursted in wanting to know what we were doing. Genji’s one led the charge and the two others followed, they got in the way and everything was real bright…” She gestured at the surrounding damage. “There was a flash of light that went straight through the roof, tearin’ it to pieces, and when everything was back to normal — they were gone.”  

76 didn’t like the sound of three spirits being ‘gone’. But he’d seen them disappear on the field before, and they always came back whenever Hanzo and Genji called for them. However, glancing up at the roof again, he didn’t like the sound of this “flash of light” either.

“What was the third test?”

Winston adjusted his glasses, looking towards the chronal accelerator. “Exposing it to the same conditions, in other words, a force strong enough to inflict the same damage as Doomfist. I believe it would be safer for Lena if she wasn’t wearing it, but I was mistaken.”

Before Winston could withdraw into himself, Lena stepped closer and laid her hand on his back. He glanced up at her and she smiled, ruffling his hair.

“You were just tryin’ to help, and by the looks of it, you pulled it off,” she jutted a thumb at the device.

76 nodded, tilting his head back to observe the caved-in roof. “With a casualty, but if it keeps Oxton in the present, then it was well worth it.”

Lena smiled wide and whooped loudly, throwing her hands in the air when a sharp ringing sound echoed through the room. She stumbled backwards, and held onto Winston who grabbed her hand, the other planting firmly on the ground to keep his footing. 76 slid to the side, grabbing onto one of the larger pieces of debris as the floor shook beneath their feet. The humming coming from the chronal accelerator became louder and louder, the light shining brighter and brighter until it blinded them all. 76 could barely hear Lena and Winston scream, his ears ringing and the world being swept away.

When the light died down, 76 rolled over from his place on the floor, picking himself up on a forearm while groaning and gasping for breath. His ears were still ringing and his eyes could barely pick out shapes let alone colors, feeling around for the controls on his mask, he switched on the infra red display and looked around. Winston and Lena were slowly picking themselves off the ground but there were two other heat signatures in the room.

One smaller than the other and approaching with measured steps.

Pushing himself up and shuffling backwards, 76 tried to put as much distance between hisself and the approacher as possible.

“Do you need any help, Soldier?”

The world slowly came into focus and in front of him stood a young boy, around the age of ten or eleven by the looks of it. A mane of messy dark hair, tanned skin with a jagged scar across his nose, brown eyes trained on him, donning an athletic shirt with the Overwatch emblem over the chest area, dark pants and some sort of boots that reminded him of the ones Hanzo wore on every mission.

Come to think of it.

“…Hanzo?”

The boy cocked his head to the side. “…Did you hit your head, Soldier? Don’t you remember? My name is….” He paused, turning around and glancing about the room as if realizing where he was for the first time. “…What happened here?”


	2. And There It Is

76 wasn't sure what to make of this. He'd seen some crazy things in his day. The world on fire, friends turned foe, so many deaths and burials, crying families, death's door, Reinhardt making a tortilla out of sauerkraut, but this was the strangest thing he'd ever borne witness to. Once the dust settled and sight returned, sunlight poured in through the roof's gaping hole illuminating a man he'd long since thought dead.

"Sojiro Shimada," 76 spat, his lips curling into a snarl.

Dark hair tied back in a high ponytail, bangs left unchecked framing his face, a scar across his nose, another bisecting his eye, lips set in a hard line. The reports didn't do him justice, he was much more imposing in person. Sharp dark brown eyes analyzing the room quietly, a commanding presence even when he hadn't said a word. Out of place amidst the debris, dressed in a fine haori and pleated hakama, his sandals clacking against the rubble beneath them as he approached.

The boy standing in front of 76 glanced over his shoulder. He turned around fully and took a step back, his arm held out in front of 76 and knees slightly bent as if he was ready to pounce at the slightest bit of aggression.  It was almost laughable, the idea of Shimada Sojiro being mauled by a kid who barely came up to his chest. But the laughter died and all 76 was left with was the horror that this man was in their base, and for better or worse, that was a security issue they couldn't ignore.

"Kid, move out the way," 76 growled lowly, staggering to his feet, hoping Lena and Winston would gather their wits soon. "Right now."

"No."

Sojiro's strides came to a halt when he was only a few inches away from them. Even though his gaze was trained on the old soldier, 76 had the sneaking suspicion that Sojiro wasn't looking at him but through him. Appraising him with nothing more than a flick of the eyes and a soft hum before his gaze traveled to the boy then back.

"You have gotten old, Jack Morrison," Sojiro said with the equal calm of someone pointing out the sky was blue. "The years haven't been kind to you."

76 gritted his teeth and stood up to his full height, though the ache in his ribs made it hard to breathe, he wouldn't dare let this man look down on him. Sojiro watched the display quietly but the corner of his lips quirked up for a split second and 76 was almost certain the smug bastard was smirking at him. Gaze flicking to the boy standing between them, the brief glimmer of a smirk vanished and he hummed questionably.

"This is unusual," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "And who might you be?"

Every fiber of 76's being was telling him to get the kid out of here as quick as possible. He wasn't sure where he'd come from, but he knew Shimada Sojiro's rap sheet or lack thereof. His clan was known for killing anyone who got in their way, even disrespecting them was enough for a death sentence. From the corner of his visor, Lena and Winston were detected and 76 felt some relief watching Winston slowly rise, aided by Lena's hand on his arm. When she lifted her head though, she gasped and Winston reeled back. Sojiro glanced over his shoulder at them and 76 took the opportunity, grabbing the kid by the back of his shirt and hauling him under his arm, making a break for Lena and Winston.

Sojiro didn't make any sudden movements to 76's burst of motion but he did cock his head to the side and sigh like an irate father scolding a petulant child. "I only asked a question-"

"Athena, alert agents on base, we have an intruder," Winston interrupted, the four bathed in an eerie red light as Athena's voice poured through the speakers.

**Attention Watchpoint: Gibraltar, intruders have been sighted on base in Building E, Lab Six, please be advised the structure has taken damage, and three agents have engaged.**

"Well, I am glad it does not look this terrible all the time,” Sojiro said flatly, rolling his eyes heavenward. 

Lena leaned toward 76, keeping her eyes on Sojiro as she whispered, “I know we’ve had some very odd funerals and reappearances, but  _this?_ He died ten years ago.”

76 wanted to agree although he didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on him. If there was any shame left for his actions, he might have blushed but as it stood, he couldn’t think of anything else but the potential danger. And where the hell was their back up? To his dismay, Sojiro seemed abnormally calm and even amused as he cleared off a particularly big piece of rubble and took a seat, cheek tucked against his fist, scrutinizing them quietly.

“Tell me, why are you wearing that mask Is it a new trend of some sort?”

76 scowled but chose not to respond. Beside him, Lena choked with something that sounds oddly like a laugh.

“It is  _interesting_ ,” Sojiro finished with a heavy sigh. “Though after that eye-gouging duster coat you wore,  _constantly_ , I suppose this is an upgrade.”

Lena barked out a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand and Winston looked everywhere  _but_  at 76. Honestly, back-up couldn’t come any sooner. Noise on the comms crackled to life and McCree’s drawl came through.

“Be there in a bit, hold your position Jack,” he assured, any further messages being silenced as the comm clicked off.

“Was that Uncle Jesse?” 

Looking down at the child still tucked beneath his arm, craning his neck to regard with him with a look that almost seemed  _relieved_ , 76 squinted and shifted the boy to a two-hand carry, lifting him up to face-level. The relief twisted a look of indignation then disapproval, lips pursed and eyes narrowed as he hung from 76′s hold.

“How do you know him? Where did you come from?” 

“Could you put me down, Soldier?”

“Not until you answer my question, kid. Light destroying roofs and bringing back crimelords (he glared at Sojiro who had the audacity to shrug) and  _kids,_ isn’t normal even for Overwatch’s standards.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care, put me  _down_ , please.”

Lena glanced from the boy to 76 then back. “Uh, I don’t think you should hold him like that.” 

It would be alright, 76 told himself, just stand firm. It was just a kid and no matter how irritated he looked, it wasn’t as if he could pack a punch. How wrong he was. A few seconds longer of dangling in his grasp, the child seemed fed-up and swung his legs out, the steel toe of his boots catching 76 in the chest. He wasn’t sure what was in the kid’s shoes, steel or lead, but it knocked the wind out of him and forced him to release his hold.

While he staggered backward, the kid landed on his feet like a cat and huffed irritably, dusting off his shoulders. When the door slid opened and several agents entered, posted up with weapons at the ready, it was to the sight of Lena and Winston trying to comfort and pick up 76 while restraining laughter, a kid sifting through the debris, and  _the_  Sojiro Shimada watching it all with an impassive stare.

Hanzo shoved his way through the wall of agents, eyes wide and disbelieving. Upon looking at him, Sojiro sat up as well, slowly rising -- gaze drawn to Hanzo’s tattooed arm. Almost self-consciously, Hanzo drew it behind him and startled when Genji sidled up beside him and went stock still.

“Father?”


	3. Here We Go Again

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Aside from the child sifting through the debris in search of something unknown, no one else dared to move. On one side, a man known for the dubious acts committed during his lifetime and on the other, a group of highly trained and deadly individuals including two who were very well acquainted with him. Eventually, when the adrenaline had passed, weapons were lowered and the silence grew stiff and awkward as Hanzo and Genji were locked in a competition of who could show the most shock. For the most part, Hanzo was winning as Genji had the advantage of concealing his face with his visor.

Sojiro’s impassive expression left his own feelings up to the imagination but the way that his shoulders squared and the air seemed to shift around him; he wasn’t in a joking mood anymore. A loud bang and soft thud broke the stillness and all the adults turned their attention to the child who perched himself on the edge of a desk cleaved in half by a larger piece of debris. He was currently patting off a bundle of cloth, seemingly unaware of the situation and the stares lingering on his head. After he was satisfied, he grabbed an edge of the cloth and tossed it high into the air then shook it loose.

Jet black with frayed edges, golden geometric patterns sown into the edges, and just as long as it was wide. Once he was satisfied, he stood up and tied it around his waist, tucking the excess and letting it drape down the back and side of his legs, stopping short of his calves. A faint smile graced his lips as he glanced up but it quickly evaporated once he realized he had an audience, eyebrow quirked and lips pinched together, he looked around then shrugged.

“What?”

McCree was one of the first to gather his wits and stepped past Ana who still had her sights trained on Sojiro, giving her a quick pat to the shoulder. Though as he brushed past Hanzo and Genji, he patted the latter on the back and the former of the shoulder. Spurs jingling and an easy-going smile on his face, he walked past as though inviting crimelords into a covert military base was just another part of the job. Sojiro’s eyes followed him and McCree returned the gesture with a tip of his hat and a slight narrow of the eyes, steel behind his smile.

“Uncle Jesse,” the boy smiled, hopping off his perch and meeting McCree half-way. The sheer joy and relief in his face almost made McCree feel guilty that he didn’t know who he was at all. Though the boy took one look at his mug, searching his face and the glimmer of hope died. “…You don’t know who I am, do you?”

McCree huffed, rubbing his neck and grimacing. The last thing he wanted to do was burst the kid’s bubble but the truth was better than a lie and the last thing anyone could call Jesse McCree was a liar.

“Can’t say I do,” he said, feeling a twinge of sympathy when the kid looked down. “But uh… Uncle, huh? Must mean I was somebody important to you, and vice versa I reckon.”

He looked down at the cloth wrapped around the boy’s waist and knelt down, reaching out to take one of the ends, pausing in mid-motion. “You okay with me touchin’ it?”

The kid lifted his head and his eyebrows knitted together, a look of intense focus and deliberation easing into one of acceptance as he nodded. McCree tried hard not to smile or laugh. He wondered where he’d seen that look before but he was almost certain the kid wouldn’t take kindly to being laughed at right now nor was it the time. First, there was a theory to confirm. Taking the end of the cloth in his flesh hand, he rubbed it between his fingers. It was soft, worn, lovingly so from the looks of the craftsmanship and the vibrant colors. The ends were frayed but otherwise, it looked well taken care of. Just like the one artfully throw around his shoulders.

“Mind tellin’ me who gave you this?”

McCree looked up and met the boy’s eyes, the two of them sharing a meaningful look and though no words were said, McCree understood. He pushed up to his feet and groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uncle Jesse, huh?”

The boy tilted his head to the side and McCree huffed, the smile returning to his face though it lingered in his eyes as well.

“Like the ring to it,” he murmured, then raised his voice, turning to address the rest of the peanut gallery that’d been crossed between staring at their other unwelcomed guest or working on getting up the downed 76. “Well, folks. Seems we’ve got a bit of a situation on our hand, and since we’re in the presence of royalty, (He gave a glance towards Sojiro who raised an eyebrow with a distinctly unimpressed look), we should move this somewhere nicer.”

Then with a snake’s smile, he looked towards Sojiro and tipped his hat.

“That fine with you?”

The unspoken ‘You don’t have a choice’ lingering in the air. McCree could feel the weight of Genji’s gaze on him even with his visor obscuring his face from sight. They’d discussed how dangerous Sojiro was in the past, how he’d killed for less, but McCree didn’t have any fear of this man. No, if anything, he only had a bullet with his name on it. Eventually, Sojiro broke eye contact with a huff and McCree tipped his hat again.

“Much obliged, sir.”

Smiling down at the boy beside him as some of the agents led by Mercy and Lucio set to bringing 76, Lena and Winston to the medbay. Apparently, she didn’t want to take any chances with the bright light and the whole “losing senses” thing. Though McCree picked up the faint argument that the kid kicked 76 in the chest, and it endeared the boy to him even more than the small exchange before.

“So, I never caught your name,” McCree said.

The boy grinned toothily, crossing his arms behind his head. “Think that’s cause I never said it.”

“Well, shoot, I guess you’re right. Humor me then?”

The boy opened his mouth then snapped it shut. The toothy grin becoming a slight frown, as his gaze shifted left. McCree followed his line of sight to Sojiro leaving the room with Reinhardt and Ana bringing up the rear. Hanzo and Genji walking after them, their movements rigid but steps feather light. If he hadn’t turn around, he might not’ve noticed they even left. His gaze lingered on Hanzo’s back and the archer glanced over his shoulder. McCree smiled a little and raised his hand but Hanzo’s gaze fell away and he turned around, following after Genji, leaving only the boy and McCree.

“Don’t worry about nothin’, kiddo,” McCree said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “He’s not as scary as he looks.”

“I’m not scared, Uncle Jesse,” the boy replied, starting off towards the door without even a backward glance, his strides graceful and sure — steps barely making a sound.

Tilting his hat down to hide his pained expression, McCree followed with a heavy sigh and a soft murmur beneath his breath.

“Good to know.”

The walk to the conference room was less suffocating without the others around. While McCree was certain he’d never seen this kid before in his life, they lapsed into amiable silence and it almost felt like second nature. Aside from the fact that the kid’s steps were so soft that McCree nearly left him behind thinking the kid was still beside him. Turning around more than once, McCree caught him peeking into rooms or knocking on doors as if expecting someone to answer. Though McCree could figure that he wasn’t thrilled with this and every room he stopped to check along their way was another notch of disappointment in his belt.

Eventually, they came to the conference room and McCree took off his hat as the door opened, walking through and waiting for the kid to follow. Around the circular table were several chairs, some occupied and others left vacant. Shimada Sojiro sat in a chair opposite of Genji and Hanzo, his gaze momentarily flicking to McCree as he entered then back to either brother, quiet but searching. McCree almost scowled. Hanzo seemed wound up and ready to spring at any second while Genji’s hands were hidden beneath the table.

Never a good sign.

Heaving a sigh, McCree put on his best smile and gestured to the empty chairs.

“Take a seat, kiddo,” he offered, pulling out a chair before going to take up his own beside Hanzo.

Looking around the table, the only other agents aside from the brothers were Reinhardt and Ana. At times like this, he wished Zenyatta was around to give a bit of his wisdom. At least he might’ve been the only neutral party at the table. And the least irritating. Even surrounded by the unknown, Shimada Sojiro had the unyielding aura of a man accustomed to power and unafraid of those who perceived they had the upper hand. Even now, McCree was almost certain he was looking down on them though he seemed dead set on staring Genji and Hanzo down.

Glancing at Hanzo in his peripheral, the archer was wound tighter than a thread but McCree knew better than to attempt to comfort when he was like this. Especially in public.

Damn Shimadas, always making things more complicated.

Clearing his throat and drawing all eyes towards him, McCree put on his best smile.

“Seein’ as Soldier, Winston and Lena are indisposed right now, I’ll be leadin’ this little party, if ya don’t mind.”

When no one objected, he continued on looking towards Sojiro, the man managing to tear his gaze away from the brothers long enough to make eye contact.

“First things first, mind tellin’ us how it is you got here? I can piece together the broad aspects: Winston’s experiment, time travel perhaps, but it doesn’t explain how you got here. The finer details, if ya don’t mind.”

Sojiro blinked at him owlishly then nodded, “I was preparing for an important meeting when I was engulfed in a light which robbed me of my senses. When I regained my sight, I was here.”

McCree whistled low. “That all?”

Raising a brow, Sojiro scoffed. “I hardly have a reason to lie to someone of your caliber.”

McCree chose to take the higher road and ignore the jab though it didn’t stop him from glowering at the other man. Caught in a battle of wits for a moment, he hardly expected the almost bored young voice to chime in.

“You should show Uncle Jesse some respect, old man,” the kid said, arms folded across his chest.

McCree felt his blood pressure rise as Sojiro looked away from him, Hanzo and Genji visibly tensing up.

“I beg your pardon?” Sojiro asked, the faux-calm in his voice yielding to slight indignation. “And who are you?”

As if oblivious to the impending danger of speaking against a crimelord, the kid shifted his way from one foot to the other and tilted his head, clearly unimpressed. “My dad says when you ask for someone’s name, you have to give yours first, old man.”

“Impudence does not suit you, child,” Sojiro replied, venom laced into the last word and McCree could see Ana slowly reach inside her poncho, Reinhardt’s hand touching her forearm and she slowly recedes but her eyes are trained on Sojiro like a hawk.

“And I thought the leader of the Shimada would know when they’ve been beaten,” the kid continued, and McCree wondered if he had a death wish.

Sojiro huffed, the corner of his lips curving up into a mirthless smile. “So you know who I am, and you are not afraid?”

“I’ve never been scared of you,” the kid replied with a shrug. “Just annoyed.”

McCree felt a warm and heavyweight press against his hand, encasing it in an iron grip and upon quick inspection, he didn’t pull away. Hanzo’s hand clasped in his own, he could barely feel the quake in the man’s grip but it was there.

“Is that so?” Sojiro pressed on, seemingly oblivious to the distress on the other side of the room.

The boy scowled. “Apologize to Uncle Jesse.”

Sojiro said nothing for a long while and McCree wasn’t one to hold his breath and wait for a thank you or an apology. Hell, at this point he was just happy enough to get out of this alive. With Hanzo holding his hand in a death grip, Genji out of commission, Ana seconds away from sleep-darting someone and Reinhardt’s stony countenance — the situation was changing from bad to worse fast.

Sojiro’s gaze lingered and McCree swore that if he touched that kid, it would be the end of everything. Future or past be damned, he wasn’t about to let him lay a hand on that boy’s head even if he was being hostile. Glancing towards the kid who was giving Sojiro the meanest of glares, McCree wondered where that smiling child who greeted him went. What was it about Sojiro that set him off?

“My name is Sojiro. Shimada Sojiro, and yours.”

The introduction caught McCree off guard and returned him to the present.

“Shingen,” the boy said, and the pressure on McCree’s hand lessened as his next words sunk into the room. “Shimada Shingen.”

“A Shimada…” Sojiro muttered, narrowing his eyes. “And how is that possible?”

Shingen raised one eyebrow, and McCree was almost certain that unimpressed look was hereditary. “Apologize to him.”

“I asked you a question, boy,” Sojiro sneered, and McCree felt his blood pressure rising when Shingen narrowed his eyes in return.

“My name isn’t  _boy._  Apologize.”

Sojiro glowered, eyes narrowing. “Who is your father,  _boy_.”

“None of your business, old man,” Shingen ground out, enunciating the last few words. “Now  _apologize_.”

“Clearly,” Sojiro replied, his voice taking on a darker edge despite the faux-calm. “Your father did not teach you manners.”

McCree winced as Shingen recoiled almost as if he’d been slapped. Eyes blown wide and lips parted, then baring his teeth as he took a step forward. He gripped Hanzo’s hand when the latter jerked in his seat, Genji sitting bolt straight and Reinhardt glaring at Sojiro with such intensity that McCree was glad weapons weren’t allowed in the conference room.

“Children,  _behave_ ,” Ana snapped, her voice cutting through the tension and dispelling it almost effortlessly. McCree shuddered, he’d heard that voice many times before and knew it wasn’t a good idea to get in her way when she took it.

Sojiro’s head snapped towards her and he glared, but if you asked McCree, nothing could beat Ana Amari when she was on the attack.

“I am far from a child.”

Ana huffed, pulling off her hood and drawing her braid over her shoulder, picking at the ends as if he said absolutely nothing. “I have heard many things about you, Shimada-san, but never did I imagine that I would see the infamous leader of the Shimada-gumi arguing —   _belittling_  a child,” she met his eyes, raising a brow then clicking her tongue. “How disappointing.”

Then her hawk-like gaze turned to Shingen and pinned him in place.

“And you, young man. As disrespectful as his comments may be, respect should be shown to your elders,” she said, then eyed Sojiro with a scowl. “However, only until they prove themselves undeserving of that respect. Never before,” She looked back to Shingen and frowned. “Do you understand?”

Shingen’s mouth opened then shut and his shoulders hunched as he seemed to fold into hisself, head bowed for a split second before he looked up again, an unreadable expression in place. “Yes ma’am,” he said, voice empty but firm.

Although it was necessary, McCree’s heart ached for him. Having had one too many Amari scoldings for a lifetime, he could understand how it felt to be on the receiving end. Unsure of what to do or say, hhe glanced towards Ana, seeing the brief glimmer of worry in her eyes that melted into assurance.  Some things never changed.

Slowly, she rose from her chair, giving Reinhardt a pat on the forearm as she did. Practically gliding across the floor like the queen she was, giving Sojiro a glance from the corner of her eye as she stepped in front of the boy and knelt down to be at his eye level.

“How old are you?” She asked, voice kind and soft.

Shingen hesitantly met her gaze. “Ten,” he muttered quietly.

Ana hummed noncommittally, nodding when she reached out to pat his head.

“You are very well-spoken for your age, and outspoken at that,” she complimented, standing up, and raising her voice slightly. “I’m sure your father raised you well.”

McCree hid his smile behind his fist.

“Now, there are things to be done, clean-up and restocking. Boring work but I do need help, and I take it we aren’t needed here, Jesse?”

Noticing his cue, McCree reached up to tilt his hat and slyly smiled.

“No ma’am.”

She nodded, looking down at Shingen. “Do you mind helping?”

“No ma’am,” he replied after a short pause.

“Good,” Ana smiled and laid her hand on his shoulder, turning him towards the door as it slid open for them to leave, peering over her shoulder she smiled. “I take it you boys will be able to work well without me?”

“We’ll play nice, ma’am,” McCree called and Reinhardt nodded.

“Very good,” She patted Shingen’s shoulder then led him through. “Come along, Shingen.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The door slid shut behind them leaving the four men in the wake of an Amari’s wrath. McCree had to admit. That went a lot better than he expected it to and with a lot less shooting. As for the aftermath, well, that was his clean-up to handle. He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling the grooves of his prosthetic scratch against his skin. It was a little painful but at least it was less painful than having to navigate this.

“Well, I’m sure the kid’s heart was in the right place,” McCree said after clearing his throat, putting on a snake’s smile. “But don’t go thinkin’ I’m expectin’ an apology, Shimada-san.”

When the man looked towards him, the faux-calm he wore had all but dissipated.

“Till we figure out more about this… predicament, I’m afraid you’ll have to stay put,” McCree said, knowing it would be much better for all of them to move this along. With the death grip Hanzo had on his hand, he’d say he only had about ten minutes tops. “I’m sure you’re just as curious about figuring this out as we are.”

“And why would I want to stay here, my family is in Hanamura,” Sojiro asked, although it sounded more like a demand.

McCree resisted the urge to wince and cleared his throat. “Well, therein lies the problem,” he said, wondering whether it was better to rip off the band-aid now or let it stay on a little while longer.  “What year was it that you came from?”

“2066.”

“Well, the current year is 2076,” McCree explained. “The world’s changed a lot from the time you were around. And I don’t wanna overwhelm you so… let’s try to take this a step at a time.”

After a long pause, Sojiro’s gaze boring into McCree’s and the seconds ticking past, the man shut his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and asking the dreaded question.

“…And what of my sons.”

McCree bit the inside of his cheek before he responded, squeezing Hanzo’s hand. “Like I said, don’t wanna over—”

“What happened to my sons?” Sojiro asked again, his voice raising slightly enough that McCree felt a prick of annoyance.

“Now, I know you’re no fool, Shimada-san,” McCree’s eyes narrowed as he sized up the man, decidedly having enough of both his attitude and this weight bearing down upon his shoulders. “Won’t even play you for one. But I don’ think you’re ready to hear that.”

The two stared one another down, Sojiro’s scowl deepening but McCree had been exposed to many people with death glares far more intimidating and he wouldn’t be cowed to the likes of him. Eventually, Sojiro huffed, his jaw set as he leaned away. Hanzo’s grip loosened and McCree felt the blood rush into his hand almost like a reward for a victory hard-earned.

“We can set you up in a officer’s quarters, won’t be like what you’re used to I’m sure, but would be good enough. Far from the noise. A place where you can just process,” McCree explained, bone tired but voice firm, wishing to be almost anywhere else but here. “Then we can tackle this tomorrow.”

After a long pause, Sojiro nodded. “Very well.”

“Alright then.”

Turning to Reinhardt, McCree nodded.

“You mind?”

Reinhardt shook his head and then in a voice much quieter and colder than his normal one, he spoke.

“Not at all, my friend.”

Rising from the table, he practically towered over Sojiro as he came to his side, gesturing to the door with a slight flourish.

“Sir?”

Sojiro sized the man up quietly before standing, giving one last lingering look to McCree’s side of the table. The gunslinger trying not to tense when his gaze lingered on Hanzo and then Genji for a beat longer than he would’ve liked. But soon enough, Sojiro was gone, led down the hallway (thankfully) opposite of where Hanzo and Genji’s quarters would be.

Once the door shut, McCree slumped almost bonelessly in his chair. Hanzo didn’t move but Genji did, his movements jerky and rigid almost as if his body was locked up from sitting still for so long.

“Have I gone mad, Jesse?” He asked, a tiny warble to his voice, so unlike the man who would normally be teasing or talking eagerly at a mile a minute.

“Nah, partner. Not yet,” McCree replied, sparing him a small smile that he hoped was reassuring. “And I’m gonna need you to stick around a while longer.”

Genji nodded slowly, standing up and turning towards the door. Though before he left, he laid a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and squeezed then before McCree could blink, he was gone. The only remnant that he was there was a spinning chair, and the door sliding shut.  McCree breathed in and then exhaled, looking towards Hanzo. The other man hadn’t said a word the entire time, and he hadn’t moved. McCree almost wondered if he even blinked.

“We can stay for as long as you need, Hanzo,” McCree said, turning in his chair and reaching out to draw Hanzo into his arms. Hanzo following him, burying his face against McCree’s shoulder, nose buried into his serape and arms wrapped around him tightly. Their knees knocking together and the angle uncomfortable but McCree wouldn’t let Hanzo go for anything in the world. Settling his chin on top of Hanzo’s head, McCree breathed in deep and hugged the archer tighter.

“I’m here,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “I gotcha.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like my work and would like to support me, [why not buy me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/iyhuckleberry)?


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